These Innocence We Will Prove
by CeCeLa
Summary: Elizaveta Hedervary finds herself at the center of a controversial, high profile murder investigation. Whispered secrets and underground conspiracies have a way of blurring the lines of fact and fiction, making innocence hard to prove when one is guilty.
1. The Situation

**The Situation**:

He has scars, and a lot of them. They make patterns on his back and arms. Some could stand alone as an individual design. But Elizaveta enjoys each and everyone and when he's sleeping she counts them until her eyelids get weary. So far, she's counted up to twenty something on his back and chest alone; she's never actually counted them all.

He has one tattoo on his right shoulder. It's not big nor is it small either. The artwork is simple, a black eagle with a German crown. He told her it represents his heritage and that was the first time she realized there was more to him than appearance only. Elizaveta's family disapproves; her friends do as well but won't say it to her face. 'He's bad for you', is all she hears. But she would rather be in his small one bedroom apartment, with it's tiny windows and that endearing hum of the air conditioner unit than in any stately mansion with stuck up rich people who have too much time on their hands.

"It's early," she says with a smile at his back. Her eyes do it on their own, counting scars as he's bent over. Elizaveta props her head with one hand. "Where are you going?"

Gilbert sits at the foot of the bed, when he finishes whatever he's doing, putting on shoes Elizaveta assumes, she shifts her feet underneath rough cotton sheets so that he doesn't accidently lean on them. He doesn't answer right away but stands and stretches his arms high above his head. When he's done he turns to face her. A wild grin to match his wildly exotic red eyes makes her shiver.

"I thought we'll have something other than coffee for breakfast." Gilbert answers her before crawling over the sheets until they were face to face. He hovers over her and she can't help but touch those toned and scared arms.

"You're leaving me for food?" Elizaveta teases as fingers feather over his shoulders. "I'm so jealous."

"I skipped dinner for you." He answers and she chuckles. He's making that confused face, where is white brows knit together and his lips part just a bit, because he isn't sure if she is serious or not.

"I know," she answer back a bit distracted as her fingers intertwine themselves in the thin white hairs of his neck. Elizaveta pulls herself up enough to kiss his confused lips that completes with the smile on her face.

Gilbert finally gets it after a few seconds and kisses her back but she is already pulling away. He frowns and she chuckles again.

"Bring something with eggs." She informs him and he snorts.

"Eggs? That's it?" Gilbert shakes his head and pulls himself up off the bed. "You need something more than eggs for breakfast, Liz."

"Something _with _eggs," she corrects him as he slides on a long-sleeved shirt and a jacket.

He walks to the side of the bed, grabbing his keys and kissing her at the same time. "Something with eggs got it."

Elizaveta sits up fully and watches him as he leaves. She keeps the sheet wrapped around her otherwise naked form and swings her legs over the edge of the bed. With a bit of skilled maneuvering, the Hungarian woman manages to secure it around her person. Even though she is there alone, Elizaveta is very conscious of the close proximity of the neighboring apartments and the thinness of Gilbert's curtains. Satisfied that the sheet won't fall, she makes her way to the bathroom in what she assumes is either late morning or early afternoon. With hum, Elizaveta starts her usually routine of relieving herself on the toilet when she hears a thump.

The walls in the apartment are thin and she's use to mistaking noises from next door to being inside the house. So, Elizaveta doesn't technically panic but when she hears another thump, her heartbeat jumps just a bit. She leans toward the door, trying to peer in the hallway from her vantage point on the toilet. Her hand reactively grabs at the sheet but she doesn't move. The noise stops and she sighs and scratches her hair.

It wasn't really warm in the apartment though the heating was screaming through the entire place. Elizaveta turns on the water to take a shower. The sound of it overshadows the screaming of the heater. She sits on the rim of the tub, letting the water run on her hands until it reaches the temperature she likes.

That is when she heard it, a loud boom that makes Elizaveta jump up.

"Liz," Gilbert yells and she jumps up at his urgency. "Liz, where are you?"

"Get on the ground" someone yells and she hears more noises but her feet won't move to go see.

There is rumbling, "Get off of me," Gilbert yells and she can tell he is struggling by how harsh his words come out. "Liz?" he screams this time and she rushes toward the living room.

It's completely destroyed. The lamps are on the floor, magazines scattered everywhere. In the center of it all, held down on the table by two men in black was Gilbert, hands behind his back and on his knees.

"Gil," her voice is shaky, "Gil, I'm—" before she can finish a man grabs her roughly by the arm and forces her against the wall. Her face hits it forcibly and he forces her hands behind her back.

"Let her go," Gilbert demands and though she can't see him the noises behind her let her know he's fighting back.

"Keep your head down, prick," One of them say and she cringes at the sound his head hitting the table, "Search the apartment for anyone else."

"What's going on?" Elizaveta asks in panic.

The man who is holding her let's up only and little, "You have the right to remain silent,"

"—I'm getting arrested? —"

"…Anything you say can and will be used against in a court of law…"

"—Gilbert, why are we getting arrested? Gilbert! –"

More rumbling, "I said let her—ah—fuck you," Gilbert says.

"I said, keep your fucking head down!" an officer screams.

"…You have a right to an atto—"

"I know my rights!" Elizaveta yells to which the man momentarily stops speaking. Everything is happening so fast, she hardly has time to process it. One minute she is about to shower, the next she's being read her Miranda Rights. Gilbert's struggling behind her didn't make it any better and with every subtle movement on her part, the office .her tightened his hold.

"All's clear, Sir," another man says as he emerges from Gilbert's bedroom.

"Good," the officer whom Elizaveta reasons is in charge states, "Bag'em and let's go, but not the girl." He walks over to her and she has to hold herself back from snarling at him. "You might want to put on some clothes missy, because you're coming with us."

She's forcefully turned and as such can see when they lift Gilbert up from the table.

"Call Ludwig," he instructs as they shove him forward. His nose is bleeding, and one side of his face his noticeably redder than the other. "Call him and don't tell them nothing, you hear me?"

Elizaveta wants to follow. She wants to snatch him right back as they force him to keeping moving. But the other cop is still holding her arms so she just watches as he struggles and resist. She watches until his white hair disappears out of the front the door.

* * *

_A/N: I couldn't help it guys, this story just came to me. I may continue it, I may not (most likely will) but that's up to my psyche really! Anyways, let me know what you think. As always, your input is much appreciated._

_-CeCe_


	2. The Precinct

**The Precinct:**

"It's hard to believe you're caught up in all of this, Ms. Hedervary." Detective Zwingli says and hands her a cup of coffee.

Elizaveta takes and answers curtly, "Don't patronize me, Vash."

She sips tentatively but eyes the blond apprehensively over the rim of the plastic cup. He holds his coffee in his hands but doesn't drink it. Instead, Vash frowns and places a hand on his hip.

"Do you have any idea how serious this case is, Elizaveta?" he inquires and his brows furrow in what she assumes is irritation.

Elizaveta doesn't answer him right away. Instead, she drinks more coffee, as much as she can without burning her mouth. Gilbert gave her strict instructs, don't tell them anything, and she won't. Then, carefully, perhaps mockingly, she sits it down then looks at him. "He didn't do it."

Vash places both his coffee and hands on the metal table and leans on it across from her, "And how do you know this?"

"Simple," she answered with a rather bored arrogance, "Because I know Gilbert, he wouldn't do anything arrest worthy."

"Don't be stupid, Elizaveta," Vash is trying to keep calm but his facial expression gives away his impatience. "You don't know a damn thing about this criminal."

"Neither do you or anyone else for that matter." She shot back and he pushes himself off the table and paces for a moment.

Elizaveta glances about the small room, the mirror on the wall, she knows people are on the other side of it watching. She glares at in and resists the urge to point her middle finger at whoever is looking back.

"This isn't the time to play this rebellious rich kid game, Ms. Hedervary," Vash stresses her last name and her eyes cut to him in such away that it could be deemed threating, "Mr. Beilschmidt is facing felony charges and so will you if you don't tell us everything you know."

"I want my lawyer," the contempt in her voice matches the defiant look on in her eyes and the Hungarian woman crosses her arms. "I'm not saying anything without him."

Now it's Vash's turn to look wearily and he leans against the wall by the door. "You're only incriminating yourself by doing this, Liz."

"Ms. Hedervary," she corrects her long time family friend, "Mr. Zwingli and I'm not saying anything without a lawyer."

* * *

Her hands shake and the key scratches the already wore wooden. "Damn it," Elizaveta swears and stomps her foot in irritation as she tries to open the door to Gilbert's apartment yet again.

It isn't that she's nervous, quite the opposite actually. She's pissed, highly. After countless hours of interrogation, she'd lost count. They finally let her go and all she wanted was to go home and get in bed. Not the stately mansion home of her parents but that old mattress with its squeaky box spring in that one bedroom apartment with its tiny windows.

When the door finally opened, the trashed living room only reminds her of the travesty that took place today. Sighing, Elizaveta tosses the spare key onto the only upright end table. Everything aches, from her shoulders to her eyes. Despite herself, Elizaveta couldn't help but breakdown on her ride home. She cried from confusion and irritation. But mainly she cried for Gilbert because she knows he's innocent.

Murder. Vash claims taking a life is Gilbert's crime. It doesn't make sense, but judging by his series of question, Elizaveta was smart enough to know it was a serious situation. The entire process was tiring, so much in fact that she didn't even stop to get something to eat. She's hungry but bypasses the kitchen in favor of the bedroom.

Slowly Elizaveta removes her scarf, and almost mechanically takes of her jacket. Then come her snow boots until she is left in nothing but her negligées. At that point, she climbs into the bed. Though the heater has been running all day, the bed is cold. Somewhere, deep in her mind, Elizaveta wonders if it's because a body is missing from it. But it's a subconscious thought, every other part of her brain has shut down. The pillow across from her is Gilbert's. Her hand reaches out for it and pulls it close to her body. It smells like him, soap and cheap aftershave. Elizaveta rests her cheek against the white pillowcase and stares at the dingy white wall ahead.

Her eyes won't close and she's wide-awake. The heater ticks and whines in the background and that noise manages to keep the Hungarian sane. Gilbert got arrested today. He got arrested and she is a primary suspect in a crime she doesn't even know. It isn't like him.

Her fingers tighten around the cushion.

Sure, Gilbert drinks more than the average person. Yes, he's a bit rough around the edges. No, he isn't super rich and this apartment with its tiny windows and noisy amenities were crap but he would never.

The phone rings. Elizaveta takes her time with sitting up. The sheet falls away but she doesn't replace it. The number on the caller i.d. is foreign but she answers anyway. "Hello?"

"You have a collect call from Heta Police Department," she sits up straighter, "To accept this call, press one." Her finger holds the button down far longer than necessary and when the automated service keeps going, she angry jabs at it until she's connected.

"Hello, Liz?" Gilbert's voice comes through the receiver, breathless and worn.

Elizaveta covers her eyes. She is not about to cry again, "Gil, what's going on?"

"Did you call Ludwig?" he asks and she wants to scream at him.

"What? Gilbert, I just want to kn—"

His voice cuts through her statement. "Did or did you not call him like I told you?"

She does scream now, "Yes, I called him." Elizaveta exhales and releases a bit of frustration with it. "What's going on? Why did you get arrested?"

Gilbert pauses before answering. "The hell if I know. I didn't do anything."

"That's what I told Vash."

"Who?"

She throws her legs over the edge of the bed. "Vash, the detective."

"You didn't tell him anything, did you?" Gilbert's voice is deep and raspy by nature but when there is a certain twang in the back of his throat, Elizaveta knows that's when he's anxious or nervous.

"I shouldn't have anything _to_ tell," she stresses, and then pauses, debating on whether or not to ask her next question. "The detective said they've been searching for you for weeks."

He snorts. "They have the wrong guy."

It's not that she doesn't believe she does whole-heartedly. But Elizaveta needs answers, and he's the only one that can give them to her. "We've stayed in your apartment for two and a half weeks." The statement is matter of fact and she holds her breath at the pauses he offers her.

"You don't believe me."

"That's not what I said," Elizaveta defends immediately.

"God, fucking hell, Liz I thought you of all people would be on my side." His voice has that twang to it again.

"I am on you're side," she says and means it. "I'm just confused and I need to know what's going on."

Gilbert raises his voice. "I'm innocent, that's what's going on."

"I know," Elizaveta raises hers just the same. "I just, it's all too much at one time."

She hears him sigh. "Wait for Ludwig. Don't do anything without him," she hears movement before he speaks again, "My times up."

"I love you," Elizaveta says quickly, "I do."

"I love you too, Liz." The telltale click lets her know he's hung up but she holds the phone to her ear for a few more seconds.


	3. The Informant

**The Informant**:

Ludwig comes two days after her call. In that time, Elizaveta hadn't left Gilbert's apartment. Her mother called several times. Her father left countless messages on her cell and filled her voicemail box. She ignored it all. Gilbert didn't call again, much to her disappoint. And from the window that overlooks the street by the kitchen sink, she noticed an unmarked car has been parked in the same spot within the last two days.

Elizaveta peeks out of the blinds while waiting for her and Ludwig's coffee.

"They've been there for two days." She informs him as he approaches her in the kitchen.

"Who?" Ludwig inquires and she moves over so that he can see.

"There, black car." Elizaveta points as best she could give the sink is limiting her reach. "I haven't seen anybody get out of it but it's always running, see the exhaust?"

She glances at her boyfriend's brother who nods and grunts in the affirmative but keeps his blue eyes locked on the window. "They've been watching you," Ludwig says, "No doubt wondering why I'm visiting."

"Cops?" she asks and he nods again, this time fixing his gaze on her. Elizaveta exhales and goes to the coffeemaker. Ludwig moves from the window to the table as she brings the drinks to him.

"One spoon of sugar, please." Ludwig informs and Elizaveta complies before fixing her own and taking a seat at Gilbert's two-seater wooden table.

They remain silent for a long while, sipping coffee in the mid winter afternoon. Ludwig isn't much of a social butterfly Elizaveta knows this. The German is more inclined to sit in silence than try holding a conversation. For her, it is a welcomed silence as she hasn't been very talkative these couple of days. So they stay quiet until the absence of conversation becomes awkward and Ludwig clears his throat.

"Have you heard from your family?" he drums his fingers on the table for a moment then stops.

Elizaveta shakes her head in the negative and pulls at the sleeves of her grey sweater. "They called, my parents, put I don't want to talk to them now." She admits and turns her gaze toward the kitchen sink. "I talked to Daniel for a few minutes. He told me they want me to come home, that they want to help."

Ludwig sips his coffee. "Help you or my brother?"

She looks at him despairingly and toys with the empty sugar wrapper. "Who do you think? They never liked Gil. But he told me to call you, so…"

The blond shifts in his chair and is suddenly more interested in his coffee than her face. "I don't know why he told you to call me. I can't help you, Elizaveta. Gilbert and I talked regularly but never about what he does. He always asked about me."

She grunts and cradles her face in her palms, then pushes her brown hair away from her face. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do." Elizaveta tells him. "There's a reason he told me to call you, Ludwig. You have to have something, anything?"

They're in silence again. Ludwig swirls his coffee and clears his throat apologetically. "Liz, I," he pauses and she looks at him hopefully when he starts to search his pockets.

Ludwig takes out his wallet and searches until he finds a piece of paper. "Call this number," he slides it to her across the table. "The man's name is Francis Bonnefoy. He and Gilbert were friends since high school. The last I heard, they lost contact about a year or two ago but he might know more than me."

Elizaveta eyes the crumpled piece of paper, "Gil never told me much about his friends." She brushes a thumb of the nearly smudge blue ink.

"They aren't on such friendly terms at the moment." Ludwig states matter-of-factly and she nods.

"Why did you still have this, Francis' number?" Elizaveta looks at him now with tired green eyes.

He clears his throat again and grips the empty mug handle. "They went out drinking a lot, him, Gilbert and another man by the name of Antonio. It was more of an emergency contact if I hadn't heard from my brother in a while. Francis was usually the one to bring him home."

Confused, Elizaveta furrows her brow. "I thought you said they weren't on friendly terms?"

"He's a last resort," Ludwig amends. "If all else failed, I knew at least one of them, Antonio or Francis, would know something of his whereabouts."

"And Antonio? Do you have a number where I can reach him?"

Ludwig shakes his head. "I'm afraid not. I lost it while moving into my new apartment."

Elizaveta nods and places the paper on the table. "Is it nice?"

"The neighborhood is quiet."

"I may have to come visit one day."

Ludwig sits up a bit straighter. "I have a spare room, should you need to get away."

She doesn't answer verbally, but stands and takes both mugs. "More coffee?"

"Yes, thank you."

* * *

_A/N: Short chapter but I'm still playing around with this story! Hope you enjoyed and had an awesome Labor Day! Much love,_

_-CeCe ^_^_


	4. The Frenchman

**The Frenchman**:

It's been nearly two weeks. The lamps and furniture have been replaced, the living area cleaned and organized. Elizaveta ties her scarf leisurely and watches her reflect as it watches her back. One fold, two fold until the green and brow scarf forms a knot.

_That color matches your eyes_. He told her once. Elizaveta remembers how she frowned at the words. Gilbert isn't affectionate and hardly the type to say sentimental things. The compliment was too soft for him. She worried about him all day and when they met up later he stressed that everything was fine. Finishing his argument with, _it's like you in scarf form with the green and brown_. That made her smile, like she smiles now and brushes her finger over the tight stitching.

It's cold outside even without snow, and Elizaveta tugs at her scarf so that it covers her chin. The unmarked car is still there; she tries not to look at it while crossing the street to the parking lot. Several people cross with her, the Hungarian keeps her head down, allowing the winter breeze to cover her face with brown hair.

"Ms. Hedervary." Some calls. Elizaveta ignores it, head down, and eyes on her feet.

"Ms. Hedervary," Only a few more inches and she'll be by her car. Her hands dig around for her keys and she presses the button to turn off the alarm.

So, close, Elizaveta is so close that her fingers could reach for the door handle but someone else does it for her. Her eyes shoot up and come face to face with blue eyes and a wide smile.

"The wind sure is harsh today, isn't Ms. Hedervary?" Elizaveta isn't sure if he's being sarcastic or serious.

His smile is cheerful and his face is young. The name stitched into his jacket reads A. Jones and Elizaveta wonders why they would put such a young officer on what might possibly be a high-profile case.

Officer Jones' hands are still on the door handle, though he hasn't opened it yet. They stare at each other, him smiling and her progressively frowning at his nonchalant attitude. So, Elizaveta entertains him, if only so she can get into her car.

"It's as windy as it was yesterday, I suppose." Her answer is monotonous at best and Elizaveta inches closer to the car door.

"You think?" he asks casually but the tightening of his grip on the handle didn't go unnoticed. "You've been lying low for a little while now, Ms. Hedervary, the wind really is getting rougher."

Something about they way he says it, his tone, which puts Elizaveta on the defensive. She wants to smack that stupid grin off of his face. "Am I under arrest?" she asks.

The officer raises a brow. "Hm?"

"I said, am I under arrest, Officer Jones?" Her voice is stern and she does reach for the door this time.

"Call me Alfred," he clarifies and much to her satisfaction opens the door. Elizaveta is quick to get inside but as she tries to close it, Alfred leans in. "I have a feeling we'll be seeing a lot more of each other so you don't have to be so formal. Have a good day, Ms. Hedervary."

His smile has lost some of its cheerfulness and is bordering on arrogant. Elizaveta doesn't rise to jab or bid him a farewell. When he's out of the doorframe she slams it shut. Alfred doesn't move when she starts the car. He just stands there, hands on his hips, smiling. Ugh, she refuses to look out of the window though her peripherals catch his every move.

When the car is warm enough, Elizaveta wastes no time with leaving the lot. Alfred waves her off and when she is far enough out of his sight, the Hungarian flips him the bird. Gilbert would have been so proud. Better yet, he probably would have yelled profanities at the officer until they couldn't see him anymore.

She chuckles at the thought and turns on the defrost as the window starts to fog. The light ahead turns red and it gives the chance to retriever her phone. Elizaveta had programmed the number that morning at it's the first thing that comes up when she unlocks it. One ring, two, three before someone picks it up. The voice is a woman or girl, she can't really tell but it throws her off for a moment.

"Um, hello?" Elizaveta asks with a bit of reluctance. "May a speak with Francis?"

"Whose calling?" the woman asks in a voice that's barely a whisper.

The light turns green and she inches up, waiting for the car in front of her to move. "Liz, my name is Liz."

Elizaveta makes a right turn and follows the road as she's put on hold. There isn't a particular place she's going, just away from the apartment and eavesdropping cops. When the fogs clears, she turns off the defrost and rides until someone gets the phone.

"Mattie, who did you say it was?" the voice is distant at first but slowly gets clearer. "'Ello, this is Francis. 'Oh do I 'ave the pleasure of speaking with?"

Elizaveta holds back a laugh. His voice is so very…French, something she didn't expect. "Francis, hello," she answers politely. "My name is Liz."

He hums before speaking, "Such a lovely name to match an equally love voice. 'Owever, I don't think I know you."

She pulls over by what looks like a café. "Yes, well that's because you don't. I'm a friend of one of your old friends. That's why I'm calling you, actually, he needs your help."

"A friend of a friend?" Francis muses. "I 'ave a lot of friends, which one exactly?"

"Gilbert. Gilbert Beilschmidt."

Francis laughs and it's both lewd and insulting at the same times. "Gil? Oh, mon Cherie, 'friends' is a very strong term. That little white devil needs my help?"

"It's only been a few years." Elizaveta justifies.

"A few years are a long time to go without speaking to a friend. So tell me, what assistances does he need from me?"

She clears her throat. "He's been arrested."

There is a pause before Francis sighs. "On what chargers?"

"I think that should best be discussed in person."

"Today then?" Francis inquires. "I can meet you at a café or something?"

She smiles and glances at the building beside her car. "I know a place."

* * *

Their coffee and pastries arrive, delivered by a petite young woman with blue eyes and dark hair. Francis smiles at her, all white teeth and warm lips. _"Merci,"_ he says, and she smiles back, a pretty blush coloring her cheeks.

"Let me know if you need anything," she says, coquettishly, and he assures her with a charming grin that they will. She bustles off, glancing coyly back over her shoulder, and the Frenchman cranes his head around to follow her figure, until she disappears inside.

"Really?" Elizaveta asks and blows the steam from her coffee. "Is this a daily occurrence? You're shameless flirting with women?"

Francis licks icing from his thumb and smiles wistfully at her. "I find it rude if I don't."

She sets her cup down and dabs at the residue with a napkin. "Rude?"

He nods and forks a piece of the black cherry tart. "If a woman is beautiful, why not tell her or show her? That's like, seeing someone and not greeting them, very impolite."

"You're logic is screwed."

"It made you smile, non?" Francis takes a generous bit of his tart and Elizaveta doesn't grace him with a response.

It isn't hard for her to understand how Gilbert and this man may have been friends. The self-proclaimed Prussian is also a shameless flirt, just a bit more blunt. Perhaps blunt isn't the right word, both of them are very straightforward in their pursuit. Francis is more of the wooing type; she reasons and sips her coffee. Gilbert lacked that grace. He says what he means and if that meant, '_I want to have sex with you, right now, on this store carpet'_ then that's what was coming out his mouth.

"You're blushing, mon Cherie." Francis chuckles and she tries to hide behind the mug.

"Not because of you," Elizaveta quickly clarifies. "I, I was thinking of someone else."

He nods and drinks some coffee. "Gilbert and I were friends for a long time. Since high school, but we grow old, things change."

Happy to be on a more appropriate topic Elizaveta nods. "And university too, right?" she inquires. "You used to bring him back home when he was drunk."

Francis smiles somewhat fondly at her statement. "Something like that, yes. But we separated because of…irreconcilable difference."

"Interesting choice of words," she grins and picks at her banana bread. "What were the differences?'

Something like sympathy passes across Francis's face. He sits back in his chair and levels a somewhat suspicious glance her way. "Who was it that gave you my phone number, Liz?"

"Um," Elizaveta's eyes dart toward the tabletop. "Ludwig."

"Hm, and how is Ludwig doing?" the question isn't asked in concern.

"Well," she answers and tries not to look bothered, "He recently moved into a new apartment."

"And, how much did you know about me before Ludwig gave you my contact information?" The questions come back-to-back, almost accusatory in nature. She wants to look at his face, to read it, but shame keeps her from getting no closer than his chin.

"I knew enough."

He snorts. "You're a terrible liar, Liz." The sound a chair sliding across the floor makes her eyes shoot up toward Francis who is now standing.

"What," Elizaveta calls and stands as well. "Where are you going?"

"Gilbert and I separated on good terms, "Francis reaches for his coat. "I intend to keep it that way by not sharing something he either didn't trust you with or wanted to keep away from you, mon Cherie."

Elizaveta quickly finds her wallet, tossing the money on the table and rushes after Francis who is already out of the door. "Wait, Francis, please, you don't understand." She takes hold of his arm, forcing his to stop walking and face her. "It's murder, they say he killed someone. But I know him; I know he wouldn't do that. If you know something, tell me."

He brushes hair back that has blown into her face and Elizaveta is too worked up to care that he's being so affection. "Gilbert is lucky to have someone as dedicated as you."

"If you don't tell me, I'll get the information from Antonio." Elizaveta says determinedly.

Francis' smile falters a bit, but he doesn't look any closer to telling her anything. "Tony? Ah, I haven't heard from him in a while as well. How has he been?'

Elizaveta turns her face from his touch. "He's been more help than you."

"You've talked to him?"

"We're meeting later." She bluffs but it's enough to make the French straighten just a bit.

"Liz," he starts.

"Elizaveta," she corrects, not liking the nickname being used by someone other than Gilbert.

Francis chuckles and lightly puts his hands in his pockets. "You are quite the spitfire, Elizaveta. I admire your determination." His face suddenly turns serious. "But it would haunt me if I didn't warn you. You are such a lovely woman, I would hate for something to happen to you. So please, let, as they say, sleeping dogs lay. Some things are better left unsaid."


	5. The Argument

**The Argument**:

Gilbert's bail is set at nearly half a million dollars. When Elizaveta goes to see him, she finds that someone has paid it. That someone had also picked him up and he didn't so much as call to tell her he was out of jail. So will a polite smile, she thanks the guard and turns to leave the building.

Once out of the presence of officers and in the safety of her car, Elizaveta takes a deep breath then let's out a stream of swears that would put any sailor to shame. Then she calls his cell, five times. No answer. She calls the house and when that fails, calls Ludwig.

"Hello?" He answers and Elizaveta has to breathe and pull over because she is positively livid.

"Ludwig, have you seen your brother recently?"

"I," he pauses guilty. "Visitation days are every Monday and Saturday. I'd made plans to go this Saturday…"

"What? I, no, Ludwig I meant physically, in person. Not in jail."

"Gilbert is out of jail?"

She starts the car and forces her foot on the accelerator. "Yes, but I cant guarantee that one of us will not be back in there by tonight."

Ludwig coughs in his nervous but diplomatic way. "I think…I think you should try staying calm, Liz."

Elizaveta puts the phone on speaker but drops it on the passenger seat. Ludwig is still talking, reasoning, but she has long since tuned him out. What the hell is wrong with him? Did Gilbert not know how she's worried for him? How she's lost sleep and appetite over his well-being? And someone had the nerves to bail him out of jail and she doesn't get so much as a text message?

"That asshole." Elizaveta yells, hits the steering wheel and makes a sharp right turn.

"Liz?" Ludwig's voice comes through albeit foggy in light of her temper. "Are you listening to me?"

No, she's not because Elizaveta is at the parking lot across from Gilbert's apartment building. Officer Jones is leaning on his car, a doughnut in one hand and a drink in the other. He smiles with a mouth full of dough and tips his hat in her direction. Elizaveta ignores him completely as she parks and slams the door.

"Ludwig, I have to go." She holds the phone to her ear and waits for cars to pass.

"Just," he sighs in defeat. "Don't kill him."

Elizaveta glares at the stream of traffic that's hindering her from walking. "Not making that promise." And with that, she hangs up.

"Off day, Ms. Hedevary? You seem upset or something?" Hell, did she commit some major sin to have such things happen to her today.

Elizaveta doesn't want to be rude but equally doesn't want to be bothered. She leans; looks pass Officer Jones and down the street. "I'm a bit of a hurry, Officer—"

"Alfred, remember? Or Al, some people call me Alfie but Al sounds better, you know?"

"Yes, that's lovely, excuse me," Elizaveta crosses the street and has to hold herself back from sprinting into the building.

Elevators don't move fast enough and she pressed the number 5 at least ten times as the thing hums and moves up. When the door finally opens, she whips out the key and can't help but stomp toward the door. It swings open because of the amount of force she uses.

Gilbert jumps and then stands. "Hey, babe, guess who got o—" his words are cut short by her hand coming in contact with his cheek.

"You ass!" Elizaveta screams, and grabs the first thing in reaching distance, which is her purse and throws it at him. Gilbert ducks but it still manages to get him in the shoulder. "You stupid, selfish…ASSHOLE!"

Then come the pillows to which the man tries swatting away and runs around the sofa. "Liz, wait can—put the remote dow…Liz that hit me the forehead!"

"Good, maybe it'll knock some sense into thick head of yours." Elizaveta stalks to the other side of the sofa, at which point Gilbert runs to the front. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He ducks as she launches a magazine at him. Gilbert peeks up only to duck back down as another wade of paper went flying over his head. "I made bail." He says finally and the Hungarians nostrils flair.

"No shit," she looks around the perimeter for a second. "How did you make bail?" Nothing else in the living room to throw? Fine, Elizaveta takes the half step into the kitchen.

"A…friend. Liz…?" Gilbert chuckles nervously and holds up his hands. "Babe, put the pan down, k?"

Elizaveta swings. Gilbert jumps over the small coffee table. "Holy shit, okay, I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you."

"You forgot?" she swings again. "You forgot to tell your girlfriend that a friend posted your bail? Are you really that stupid?"

He pauses and she holds the frying pan high above her head. "Um…no?" Gilbert answers cautiously and the look on Elizaveta's face is murderous.

But his hesitation makes her pause, and we he notices, launches to grab at her wrist. They struggle for a moment, him trying to pry the frying pan from her fingers and her repeatedly slapping at anything her hand could touch. His face, his shoulders, his arms, his face again, and his ear until finally Gilbert manages to make the skillet fall to the ground. Elizaveta punches him but he doesn't even so much as flinch. Instead, he shoves her hand away and grabs her face in his own.

No, she won't, she won't let him have it his way. Gilbert is stupid. He's so fucking stupid that she wonders if he was drop on his head as a child. Either that or has kind of disease that inhibits him from using all of his brain. But he's inching closer to her face, that stupid grin on his stupid lips and she just won't let him have it, not today. Elizaveta knees him in the stomach. As he doubles over, she grabs his shirt and pulls him close enough so that _she _kisses _him_. The kiss is harsh, passionate, demanding and longing all wrapped into one fervent lip-lock.

He smells like soap, clean, fresh soap. When Gilbert touches her, his shoes and socks and belt and shirt disappear as his hand slides down the front of her jeans. She's blushing the way she always does, because no matter how many times they do this or under what circumstances, she always blushes for him. She always trembles and sighs when his fingers slip down and invade familiar territory, and she lets the pleasure wash over her face as she gasps softly.

Gilbert whispers something that she can barely comprehend because they don't actually move their lips away from each other. When he starts fighting with the buttons on her jacket, Elizaveta understands and aids him get the damn thing off. She doesn't care about what she's wearing when they're like this. She just cares about his lips on hers. But he's tugging at her shirt impatiently and she's holding his lips hostage. Both of them are being impatient but it's her who finally gives, grumbling as she removes the shirt for him.

"Unclasp that." He doesn't gesture, he doesn't say any more than he has to. She doesn't even give him a look for being so short with her and just stretches her arms behind her back awkwardly, fumbling for the clip keeping that last stitch of upper body clothing on her body. Elizaveta doesn't completely remove it but pulls him closer to her person. Gilbert tightens his hold on her waist and she uses the security to lift herself off the ground.

Chestnut colored hair comes down in shimmering waves and falls like a curtain over both of their faces. One hand tangles up behind her head, twisting those smooth, warm strands of her hair while the other strokes her warm, curved back, and then travels down her round hips and slender waist before rising again. Gilbert's skin is cool against her arms and chest and she pulls his face up from her throat by stands of white hair. Her fingers feather over his cheek and it's the softest touch she's given him all day.

Elizaveta doesn't want to play games, no teasing today. So when he walks them to the sofa, it's she who pushes him on his back. When he tries to sit up, she pushes him right back down. Today she doesn't want to give up control like that, to let Gilbert tease and set the pace. Tomorrow night, some other night, but not now. Instead right now she catches his mouth with her lips and he tightens his arms around her body again, crushing her flesh to him as she undoes the buttons and zippers. Gilbert tilts his hips up so that she can shimmy his pants down.

He exhales throw his nose when she has to stand and remove her own. Though she only pulled his down just pass his knees, her bottoms are completely done away with. Yet, Elizaveta isn't fully naked, her bra still dangles about her shoulders. It's just the way she wants it when her thighs spread to straddle his hips. Gilbert doesn't have a say so in this because she's still mad at him. She reasons that he understands that because he doesn't ask her to take it off. Her hands rub his chest and arm before sliding her fingers back down between them and she guides him in.

Gilbert isn't a vocal and neither is she but her willpower far exceeds his. He's all the way in when he starts murmuring and whispering for her to start moving. That's why Elizaveta makes herself stay perfectly still where she's leaning over him. Her hands hold his hips down so when they try rocking beneath, he only gets a fraction of the pleasure. He doesn't get to tell her when to move or how fast to go. She does so only when his frustration is evident but how his fingers dig into her waist. When she moves, she _moves_, there is nothing slow or controlled about it.

Her pace is her own because this is about her and for her. Because Gilbert is stupid and selfish and he knows her too well so their bodies sync up quickly. Elizaveta's fingers are confused between caressing and scratching at his chest, leaving pale, scared skin covered in red marks from his shoulder to his naval. They're gasping over one another and maybe he says her name and maybe she calls out for him. Somehow he manages to sit up despite her pushing him back down. At this point though, she doesn't really care, just sucks in air to meet his body's overwhelming physical demands.

Elizaveta won't stop kissing him, as he lays her down it's a fight between her wants and his needs. It's all grunting and rutting as he pulls back trying to make his thrusts go deeper, but she pulls him in close and tangles him in soft limbs and sweet sweat and brown hair and her body begs for him to go faster.

Elizaveta isn't even aware of if and when he comes. But when she does, it's powerful and full-bodied, her entire form devoted to pulling Gilbert as close as they can get and holding him there. His arms tighten around her back and face pressed tight against her throat. She doesn't even know they're nearly sitting up with one another until he loses his strength and they have to fall before they find the sofa cushions again.

And then it's just... breathing.

* * *

_A/N *cough, cough* So, I've changed the rating on this story for several reasons. On another note, it's time for my 'thank you countries' where I give special thanks to the top four countries where my story readers reside. In order of most views to least US, Canada, UK and Germany. A special thanks to all of you wonderful citizens, whom I've captivated your imagination and wonder for murder mysteries and possible psychological thrillers! Of course, thanks to ALL my readers! Much love everybody!_

_-CeCe ^-^_


	6. The Distraction

**The Distraction**:

There is note on the pillow when Elizaveta finally rolls over out of a haze of sleep. Her hair tussles in front of her and her hands search for a warm body only to come in contact with cool paper and an empty bed.

"Gil?" she whispers, voice dripping with sleep, lifting her hair in the process. "Gil?" she calls a bit louder and pushing up on her elbows. When there is no response, she scowls at nothing and yanks the paper off the pillow.

He says he's getting breakfast and that he would be back soon. There is a sudden since of déjà vu and she only stares at the note a little longer before folding it carefully and sitting it on the nightstand. Something doesn't feel right, but she wills herself not to find the flaw in his letter. But it's pulling at her gut, weighing on her conscience until Elizaveta presses her palms to her eyes and shakes her head feverishly.

She wants her brain to stop working, to stop connecting dots but it won't and she isn't that stupid. He wouldn't do it; he wouldn't leave her like this, not after last night. They didn't talk much. It was more of enjoying each other than trying to figure out what was going on. Maybe that was her problem, maybe she should have asked more question. Then maybe, she would feel more confident that he really is going to get breakfast, the anxiety in her chest would dissipate and the anger that's slowly building would be replaced with a reassurance that today would be normal.

She reaches for the letter again, rereading the scratch handwriting. He isn't getting breakfast. She knows for a fact that's bullshit because Gilbert is under house arrest. Elizaveta crumples the note and throws the paper out of their open window. Open window? A gust of winter air makes her shiver and she cocoons herself in the sheets. Why was their window open? Crawling out of bed, Elizaveta goes to investigate. There is a fire escape and below is the dumpster, she tilts her head further out of the window but nothing can be seen in the ally. Quickly, she picks up the tail of the sheet and hurries toward the kitchen. The house arrest bracelet is sitting on the kitchen table accompanied by a butter knife. Elizaveta examines it for a moment, a green light blinking to indicate Gilbert hadn't gone out of his probation range. She carries it as she pushes back the curtain to the window above the skin. Sure enough, Officer Jones' car is still parked in front.

"That bastard," she mutters, throwing the black bracelet on the kitchen table. It bounces before toppling onto the floor. Elizaveta kicks it and it slides into the living room. She kicks it with more force this time and it hits the wall by the door. She kicks it again, and again and again because she wishes she could kick Gilbert right in his balls for leaving her here. She kicks it all the way back into the bedroom where she plops down on the bed, crossing her arms, glaring at the bracelet.

Fine, if he wants to leave, than so will she. Elizaveta dresses quickly. Snatching her phone from the nightstand, she calls Ludwig.

"I need a favor from you," she says once he answers the phone. It's the first snowfall of the winter. Though it's light and hardly sticks to the ground, the winter flakes dance and flutter into her vision as she jogs across the street.

"What is it?" Ludwig asks, "How is Gilbert doing?"

Elizaveta snorts in response but reframes from making any incriminating comments. Not with Alfred stalking over to her. "Give me Antonio's last name." she whispers into the receiver and looks up just as Alfred approaches. "Good morning Alfred. I'm late for something so, have a good day."

Alfred only smiles and gives her a lazy salute. "Drive safely, can't have anything crazy happening to you."

She gives him a look because the statement doesn't really fit the weather. He only offers her a smile and, for once, leaves her to her business. "Wait, what? Wait did you say Ludwig I was a bit distracted." Elizaveta says, giving Alfred one more glance. He leans against his patrol car, hands in his pockets.

"I said Carrideo Hernández. Liz, is something wrong? You sound a bit frazzled?"

"I'm fine." Elizaveta answers quickly and starts her car. "If you hear from your brother, tell him to call me. And thanks Ludwig." She hangs up after that.

In theory, the ride is short, only about fifteen minutes or so. But in that time Elizaveta has tried to call Gilbert to no avail. With every call that only received a voicemail, she'd left messages ranging from anger, worry to fear. If someone had broke into the apartment, surely she would have heard? But why would he lie to her? It didn't make sense. By the time she pulls up to the black gate, Elizaveta is on edge, her emotions rattled and nerves shot. She remembers the code and the gate opens to a long driveway that connects to a house that seems out of place with downtown in the background.

"Hello?" Elizaveta calls as she opens the door, removing her hat and gloves in the process. She hangs her coat in the coat closest. The foyer is pristine as always, so she removes her shoes likes she's done all of her life and hastily makes her way to the stairs. There were no cars in the driveway and Elizaveta prays—actually prays—that no one is home. No soon as she reaches pass the main living area, her mother emerges, a glass of red wine in hand.

"Oh look who finally decided to drop by?" the woman drawls out, cradling the glass to her lips.

Elizaveta rolls her eyes. "I see you found the wine again, mother. And look, it's only a little after two." She starts towards their sitting room and her mother follows, regretfully.

"Save your pretentious attitude, Eliza. Any mother would be drawn to alcohol when their daughter's no good boy toy is a murder." Elizaveta affectively ignores her as she searches rooms. "God, I should have let you close the door when Barry Sullivan came to visit. Maybe you wouldn't be so silly over a good lay. Lord knows if you've seen one penis, you've seen them all."

That makes Elizaveta turn around. "I'm not having this conversation. Where's dad?" she asks but doesn't wait for a response, choosing instead to walk around her mother, bumping the woman's shoulder in the process and going upstairs.

"Why?" her mother calls and follows her. "So you can beg him to let the family lawyer stick up for that lowlife? I told you he was no good fro—"

"Oh, god, can we not have this conversation today, please?" Elizaveta yells from atop the stairs.

Her mother pauses, standing in the middle of the stairway, one arm folded with the other holding her wine. "Yes, of course, dear. Let's all play dumb and hope you don't go to jail for being a conspirator to murder."

She raises a lofty brow and tilts the glass in her daughter's direction. "I thought I taught you better than this, no guy was worth your life." She sighs presumptuously and shrugs. "Sure he has the whole wild thing going for him and those muscles, my god, your father could never get so ripped. I'm willing to bet those things and more explain why you have more than hat hair this morning. Your mother isn't blind. I've had my share of bad boys before settling for your father but I was never stupid enough to go to jail for them."

Elizaveta narrows her eyes, staring at her mother in the worse kind of way before the front door opens and she gladly storms down back toward the foyer. Her mother follows.

"Running away from me isn't going to change facts, Eliza." He mother criticizes. "Why couldn't you be more like Daniel? He's such a good boy."

"Then go harass him" Elizaveta shots back and goes into the sitting area where her father is standing with…"Vash?"

Both men turn to look at her. Vash, dressed in his police uniform, gives her a stern glance. Her father is more delighted. "Lizzie, baby you look horrible. Come, sit down."

"No, dad, I" she exhales wearily and rubs at her eyes. "I need a favor." Vash is still eyeing her but she makes every effort to not look in his direction. "Can we talk in your study?"

"What you have to say, you can say in front of all of us." Her mother chimes in and goes to sit in the chair. "Hello Vash, I didn't know you came by. How's Lili?"

Her tone is so casual and it takes everything in Elizaveta for her not to smack her mother's wine glass to the floor. "Dad," she insists, "Please?"

He looks between her and her mother who is giving him a daring look. Vash is still look at her suspiciously and the silence is only making her more agitated. Finally her father relinquishes, much to her mother's disappointment and he leads her away from them with a caring hand on her shoulder. She sighs once the door to his study is closed and releases the tension from her shoulders. The sigh nearly brings her to tears though she isn't quite sure why and Elizaveta has the lean against the wall for fear that her legs will give out.

"Lizzie…?" Her father asks in concern and that was all it took for her eyes to water and she holds her head down to keep him from seeing. She opens her mouth to speak but the words hitch in her throat. Her knees shake and Elizaveta bends down and grabs them, inhaling deeply to calm herself.

"He's gone dad…" she whimpers out and shakes her head as if to make it false. But it's true and the truth clenches her chest and she grabs and her shirt. When her father's arms pull her up, Elizaveta realizes that she's shaking. When they wrap around her shoulders, she buries her face into his tweeted blazer.

"Where has he gone?" he asks and she shakes her head.

"I don't know and I'm scared to know." Elizaveta admits and pulls back to wipe her face. "But that's why I need your help."

He tilts his head, still holding by the shoulders. "To find him? I don't think that's a wise idea, honey. Now, I'm not saying he's guilty but let Vash and the others do they're job so in case he is, you remain innocent."

"I don't want to find Gil, I want to find some else." Elizaveta pulls away, having composed herself enough to stand on her own. "Vash can finish his job, I don't care but this is for me. Give me Jason's number and I can take it from here."

"The private investigator?" her father looks a bit disgruntled but doesn't show it in his tone. "Lizzie, I can't. " Now it's his turn to sigh and he rubs a hand through greying hair. "It's too danger and suspicious if you go snooping around or whatever it is you're trying to do. Tell Vash if you know something, other wise rest easy and don't do anything you'll regret."

Elizaveta grunts and forces the study door open, "I already have." She says, her frustration getting the best of her now.

"Lizzie, please," Her father calls out to her as she snatches her coat and hat. Elizaveta doesn't bother putting anything on but storms out of the house to her car not willing to listen even as her mother and father calls to her. The car starts with a quiet hum just as he makes it to the porch. She spares her father one last glance before leaving.

Elizaveta refuses to look back or feel bad for leaving. If they won't help than she will help herself. Her phone rings and it takes some maneuvering for her to remove it from her pocket. A snort escapes her nose when she sees and father's number. Elizaveta tosses the phone on the seat and keeps going. It beeps to indicate a message. She glances at it once she reaches a stoplight. With much reluctance she goes to her voicemail, turns it on speaker and lets it play.

"You have one unheard message. First message," her father's voice comes on with a bit of commentary from her mother before what sounds like a door closing. He clears his throat. "I don't know what you're up to. I don't know why you asked me for Jason's phone number. You're my little girl, my only daughter and as a father my sole job is to keep you safe and happy. But it seems keeping you safe may come at the expense of your happiness. Though I value your safety, I'm going to give you this number because I trust that you know what you're doing. Please, be careful, dear and…" Elizaveta blocks out the rest, a wide smile on her face.

* * *

_A/N: Greetings everyone! For those who didn't know, I finally made the move from US to UK. Ugh, jet lag is kick my ass so my sleeping has sucked. I'm always so tired lol. I've had the great pleasure of having beautiful weather these past few days but today is cold and rainy and I have a runny nose lol. A bit of advise for Southerns wanting to move here: just know 52 degrees isn't actually winter yet lol._


	7. The Package

**The Package**:

It was late, where the sky was at its darkest and the city was nearly empty of cars and traffic. In the dead silence, Elizaveta didn't hesitate to knock repeatedly on the red-painted door situated in the middle of a row of town houses. The weather was practically unforgiving this night, with wind at almost 40 miles per hour, yet she didn't have time to dress. Only to throw on a long-sleeved shirt over her flannel pajama pants, a scarf, hat and a jacket. There was no snow; just the harsh bite of winter air makes her bounce on her toes, clutching an envelope in one hand as she releases another round to knocks.

She rolls up her jacket sleeve to check the time: it's almost three in the morning. A huff of water vapor floats in the air and she exhales and looks around her. There is a car in the driveway so she knows he's home. Elizaveta is the only one outside in the mostly quiet neighborhood save the whistling sound of wind getting caught between objects. She turns again to the door and starts another round of knocks before the telltale click of a lock makes her stop. The door opens slightly and from the small crack she can make out dreary blue eyes that were almost veiled by blond hair. For a moment, Elizaveta regrets having woken him up given the very unfriendly glare she receives. But this is a matter of importance and the contents of the envelope that was delivered to her house just thirty minutes before needs to be discussed with someone. So, she quickly squares her shoulders and holds the tanned envelope so he can see.

"Did I wake you?" She asks though the answer to question is obvious and Francis doesn't try to hide his irritation at it either.

"It's 3 in the morning."

Elizaveta nods but doesn't waiver. "Yes, I know. I need to talk to you about this." She points to the envelope. "And it can't wait."

He frowns in disbelief. "It can't wait another 6 'ours?"

She shakes her head in the negative and the wind carries her hair with the movement. "Not really, no. You're the only person I could go to, Francis."

He doesn't answer right away and they hold each other's gaze for a moment before the door closes unexpectedly. Elizaveta stands there for a moment, still holding up the envelope. The door doesn't open. She purses her lips and waits for what feels like an eternity but Francis didn't open the door and the only sound outside now is the howling wind. Her arms drop in defeat and she just stands and stares for a few moments before turning on her heels, and sitting down on the top step. Six hours, he says, fine she would wait there the entire six hours.

She clenches the envelope and it's contents in her hands and pulls it close to her chest. Her knees draw up as far as they can go to keep the cold from getting into her jacket and maybe in a bit of comfort to her thoughts. Weather has a way of weighing on emotions and the gloomy of winter didn't help the emptiness Elizaveta has felt all week. Gilbert is nowhere to be found. No calls. No texts. No more letters since the first night he disappeared. Everything she's done, it's been alone and though she is strong, he makes her stronger.

She consoles herself with the thought that he left for a good reason. To protect her, Elizaveta reasons. Not because he's guilt or that he's hiding something from her but because he doesn't want her involved. It frustrates her enough to frown at the neighboring houses. Why would he do that? Didn't he trust her enough to be able to handle whatever was? When she finds him, and she is sure she will, he's going to get a good verbal lashing for not having more confidence in her.

Over the roar of the wind, Elizaveta hardly hears the click of a door opening. She glares at a neighboring house still, lost in thought when a hand comes down on her shoulder. The hand is small but it frightens her to the point she jumps up. It was a woman or a girl, the ponytails don't help the differentiation much and her small stature further smothered by an oversized coat didn't help either.

"Come inside, it's too cold to seat out here." She says.

Her accent wasn't particularly French but it was foreign. The woman doesn't wait but starts toward the opened door. Elizaveta follows without question into the house, which was dimly lit by a lamp next to the door. She shivers once the warm air hits through her jacket. The woman moves around her to close the door and lock it. Elizaveta waits patiently as she removes her coat and hangs it.

"Francis doesn't like being woken up," the woman starts and Elizaveta remembers the soft voice from when she called days ago. "I'm Madeline, you can call me Mattie if you like." Mattie looks around her for a second and Elizaveta turns to see Francis coming down the stairs, dressed in a long robe.

He looks between both of them and his gaze settles on the woman, the unfriendly look replaced with something like disappointment. "Mattie…"

"He would have done the same for you." The woman cuts in with a bit more liveliness to her voice and Francis' frown deepens. "Besides, she's been sitting outside for ten minutes…it must be important."

Elizaveta doesn't say anything but the grin on her face makes Francis's brow twitch but he doesn't offer any other complaint. Just a sigh and pushes his hair away from his face as he descends the stairs. "Make us something warm to drink, please Mattie and meet us in the living room." He gestures for Elizaveta to follow and she does diligently.

The place isn't huge but the living area is well decorated so that the space appears bigger. Placing her things aside, she wastes no more time with removing the contents of the envelope and dropping the stack of papers of the table. At the very top is a picture. The picture itself is black and white, with a profile of a man with short wavy hair, dressed in what she thinks is a suit or at least a blazer. It's hard to tell because he's about to get in a car but if someone knew this man, identifying him would be easy. Judging the change in the Frenchman's demeanor, Elizaveta knows she's made the right decision.

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" She asks, perhaps accusatorily.

Francis takes the half step to the coffee table and picks up the stack of papers. At the same time, Mattie returns, handing her a cup of tea and placing one for Francis on the table before taking her leave. The Frenchman doesn't so much as look up but flips through the papers rapidly, his expression darkening with every glance. It is similar to the expression that she had at first glance.

When he's done sifting, he glances at her and she gives him a hard look. "Maybe you are a better liar than I thought." Francis straightens himself and hands her back the stack.

Elizaveta scoffs at his remark. "This man is Antonio, your friend Antonio."

"I know," Francis answers with a bored sort of arrogance. "All the same, I can't help you. He and I are not such good friends anymore, I'm afraid."

She wrinkles her nose at his comment. "Yeah about the same time you and Gil stopped being friends. Why?"

"Am I on trial?" Francis shoots back but she ignores it, choosing to flip through the papers until she finds the one she wants.

"Look," she points to several collages of pictures. "The investigator was only able to get a few shots of him because this guy is like a ghost. Not only that, records of him sort of hit a stalemate. No address, no phone number, no job, it's like he fell off the map and emerges every so often. " She looks at him determinedly then, "But a clear record of him stops about the same time you, him and Gil stopped being friends."

Francis stays silent, glancing at the papers but his expression is less defiant. At length, he quietly confesses. "I wish I could 'elp you, mon Cherie, but truly I can't. "

"Why not?" The question is more desperate than accusing and Francis sighs and picks up his tea. He moves to stand by the window. Elizaveta stays put.

"I don't know anything," the Frenchman sips, glances at her to see if she's listening, than turns back to the window. "They never told me what or why. I was just like you. I asked questions but I always received the same answer."

She tries not to fidget with her scarf. "And what was that?"

"That I didn't want to know. It is a sad thing when friends keep secrets, Liz."

"Do you think that…that it was something illegal?"

Francis gives her a look over the rim of his teacup that she can't quite read. Elizaveta can't hold his gaze and glances at the Spaniard's photograph. He doesn't look the type to be involved in anything. Judging by the picture, she would guess he has a friendly disposition but…

"If you want answers, Liz" Francis' voice pulls her eyes back in his direction. "I suggest you find Antonio. He would know more than I."

"Yes, I know…" she trails off, a bit disappointed.

"Elizaveta," he calls and his voice holds a not too often heard anxiety.

"Hm?"

"Be careful."

* * *

_A/N: 'Who stole the cookie out of the cookie jar? Who me? Yes, you. Couldn't be. Than, who?' That's what this store makes me feel like! So, who did steal the cookies out of the cookie jar, hm?_

_-CeCe ^_^_


	8. The Phone Call

**The Phone Call**:

A woman sings to a piano melody played in the key of C. It's moderately slowly, but the deep rumble of a female tenor adds to the melancholy. Elizaveta listens. She listens and stares at a blanket TV screen. The lights are all off, save the dim kitchen light that flickers every so off behind her. The song isn't one she would normal pick but she's listening to satellite radio and it somehow ended up in the playlist. In one hand is a half-finished beer, soon to join the three other bottles on the table. Normally, she doesn't drink. The beers in the refrigerator are not hers. But tonight, Elizaveta tucks her feet under and sits on the couch alone. The other clutches the end of her sweatshirt, _his_ sweatshirt. . Tonight, she cradles a bottle of Gilbert's beer and wears his clothes. It's the closes she's been to him in what feels like forever. It's a sad song, Elizaveta can tell and her hand curls into a fist at the hem because of it.

_"Pride can stand a thousand trails, the strong will never fall, but watching stars without you, my soul cries_." The woman sings with such passion, such wanting. Elizaveta drinks, staring at the screen. She wonders if this woman has known wanting. If she knows what it is like for one's soul to cry. There is pain, which clenches at the heart and threats the life of whoever it holds. There is longing and twitch fingers that can only have indirect touches. She frowns and drinks more. Judging by the way the singer carries woeful notes over even sadder chords, the Hungarian reasons that this woman does know that kind of sorrow.

There is a noise, ringing, that didn't go with the song. Elizaveta slowly pulls the bottle from her lips and her eyes slant in the direction of the house phone. It would be a lie to say that her heartbeat didn't pick up. 'It could be anyone', she thinks but doesn't make a move to answer it. The phone continues and the noise is somehow louder than the piano score of the songs she's listening to. Hesitantly, her socked feet uncurl themselves and slowly touch the floor. Her legs feel like lead, heavy and weighted but she walks the few steps to the end table that sits next to the bed. Elizaveta stares and jumps once the ringing starts again. Her hands shake as she reaches, the music in the background is building to a crescendo. She holds the receiver to her ear.

"Hello?" Her voice comes out as barely a whisper and Elizaveta clears her throat. "Who's calling?"

Nothing. No one answers. Her eyes immediately dart to the alarm clock. It's not late, only 9 p.m. She pulls the phone from her ear to check the screen. The numbers indicating how long the phone call has been are still moving but the phone number is private.

"Who is this?" She tries again, standing a bit straighter, with more authority in her voice. Still, the person on the other end says nothing but Elizaveta knows they have not hung up. There is no dial tone. Immediately, she looks around the tiny apartment, checking to see if all windows were closed. They were and the front door did look locked from where she stands. In foolish hope, she bites her lip and draws the receiver a bit closer to her face.

Her voice is unsure and even before she speaks it cracks. "Gil?" _Click_. Elizaveta's fingers clench so hard around the phone that her knuckles turn white. The music reaches the crescendo before settling and the singer's voice reaches her ears, just as loud as the dial tone. '_Where are you now? Where are you now? Because I'm kissing you..." _The words are so eerily in touch with her current emotions that her knees give way and she slides down the bedroom wall. Unable to hold back, Elizaveta covers her eyes and tears that have been resisted and restrained pour out. Her hand covers her mouth to hide the croak in her throat, though no one else is around to hear her.

The phone dangles loosely in her hands, dial tone beeping over the new song that's started. Elizaveta pulls her knees up, resting her forehead against it. "I can't…" she grips the receiver, "I can't keep doing this…" Her eyes sting and her tears are silent but the continuous stream causes her hair to stick to her face but she doesn't both moving it. Elizaveta lets the phone slip through her fingers and it hits the old wooden floor with a thud. Slowly, her head rises with rigid breaths and she cries without restraint or sound because things were going to shit and she couldn't do anything to stop the free fall.

"Ms. Hedevary!" The loud bang of Alfred pounding on the door quickly draws Elizaveta to her feet. No. No. No, not now.

He lets loose another round of ear-piercing knocks. "Open the door now, Ms. Hedevary!" She glances around, grabbing the first pair of boots in sight and shoves them on. In a rush of panic, Elizaveta kicks Gilbert's house arrest bracelet under the bed and scrambles to the living room to gather as much of the papers about Antonio as she can.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." She swears while shoving them into the envelope, folding papers and pictures so that they could fit. For a moment she consider turning off the radio, but by now she reasons that Alfred may have already heard the noise. The beer bottles are thrown in the trash and she dashes back to the bedroom and closes the door, grabbing her car keys in the process.

"I'm coming in!" Alfred yells and she could hear his boot kicking at the flimsy wooden door even as she pulls up the window. A rush of night air hits her face and she braces herself at the splintering sound of Gilbert's front door being kicked in. Elizaveta hurries down the fire escape, powering down the small ladder until her nervousness of getting caught makes her jump the few inches to the ground. She presses against the wall, heart drumming, with the envelope squeezed in her palm. If Alfred is looking down, he shouldn't be able to see her.

This is wrong, she thinks as she mad dashes toward her car. All of this is wrong, but if Alfred finds that Gilbert isn't home, Elizaveta is in trouble anyway. She could always feign ignorance. He did leave a note saying he was getting breakfast and she reasons, as her fingers fumble with the key in the ignition, that the note can be used to her advantage, and his.

"Don't look. Don't look, god damn it!" Elizaveta screams to herself as her car speeds from the lot. Surely Alfred has realized either she's left or isn't there at all, but against her will, her eyes glance at the rearview mirror and she can see him running in the dark. His hand is on his waist and she gasp at realizing he's pulling his gun. Out of sheer panic, her foot stomps on the gas and the car rams forward, pressing her back to the seat. But her headlights are off and she nearly misses the car that speeds through the coming intersecting quickly forcing her the press the brakes. Elizaveta is nearly thrown over out of the front window; her chest hits the steering wheel as the car jolts to a complete stop.

"I can't breathe…" She wheezes and grabs at her sweatshirt. "I can't bre…I can't breathe…"

The driver door flies open and the feeling of cold metal pressed to her forehead makes Elizaveta blanch and chest tighten. She freezes. "Get out of the car!" Alfred screams. He doesn't wait for her to move but reaches over her and forces the car in park. With the gun still to her head he removes the keys from the ignition and grabs her by the arm. He throws her on the hood; face down, before she could get a glimpse of his. The force makes her eyes cross and leaves an aluminum taste in her mouth.

Her mind has stopped working, eyes dazed, but through the blur and blinding street lights, Elizaveta can make out the growing crowd of people who watch as Alfred pats her down. Groaning, she tries to lift her head only to have it shoved back down by Alfred's strong hand.

"Keep your fucking head down." He sneers and her arms are twisted into an inhuman backwards position, which draws a shriek of pain from her lips. Something wet is running into her mouth and when Alfred jerks her up by the elbow, the thick liquid drips on her tongue. Automatically Elizaveta spits it out to see that it's blood and more of it his dripping on the ground. "You and your little boy toy are gonna rot in jail together. Move," he orders and pushes her forward toward his police car.

* * *

_A/N: The song used here is 'Kissing You' by Des'ree if anyone is wondering! Ah, it's late and I'm hungry lol. _

_-CeCe ^_^_


	9. The Truth of truths

**The Truth of truths**:

The walls are white brick, lined and stacked against each other. Laminated flooring matched its color, and if she blocks out the fact that her hands are secured behind her back, Elizaveta can imagine that she is in a hospital right now. But the approaching black boots that pull her eyes from the ground reminds her that she is indeed in jail. The officer walks past her without so much as a glance, focused on the envelope in his hand. Elizaveta doesn't protest when she is led to the holding station. She stays silent, eyes downcast, with her hair shielding her from seeing anyone or visa versa, as a female warden forcefully and unnecessarily pushes her forward.

When they come to a stop, Elizaveta doesn't look up, but can see the door before her is gray, and judging by the way the officer grunts as she pulls it open, it's quite heavy.

"You've got ten minutes, Hedevary," she informs with a bored sort of arrogance, removing the brunette's handcuffs and pushing Elizaveta forward, closing the door behind her. Then and only then did the Hungarian look up to see several booths, separated by gray dividers and a black chair at each one. She is the only inmate in there, and on the other side of the thick glass, Vash is glaring at her, holding a phone receiver to his ear and pointing at her. Elizaveta takes a tentative step forward, going to the booth where her friend is. She sits, a blank mask carefully plastered on her face, and exhales as she grabs the phone. Since she knows the Swiss man so well, Elizaveta holds it a few inches away from her ear for her hearing's sake just as the detective goes on his rant.

"Mind telling what the hell it is you're trying to pull here?" Vash yells, and his face is already red from exertion, though he'd just spoken the one sentence.

Elizaveta clenches her jaw and looks at him. "I didn't do anything."

The detective tsks in obvious disbelief. "Obstruction of justice is a crime, punishable by up to five years in prison. If you're not doing _anything_, then I sure as hell would like to know how you've classified your actions. You're interfering with a federal crime case."

"I didn't know he wasn't supposed to leave." She defends her actions with a stiff lip and hard eyes.

Vash snorts and bangs in fist on the counter. "Ignorance is not an excuse. Beilschmidt removed his house arrest bracelet while you were there and you didn't report him the police!"

"I didn't know!" Elizaveta raises her voice, and the officer from before comes in immediately. Vash holds up his hand to stop the warden from taking the Hungarian away.

He sighs wearily and rubs at his eyes. "I can't get you out of this one, Liz. You better pray that the judge is one that still honors your father's name."

Elizaveta wants to protest that she needs no such help, but wisely keeps silent on that subject. Instead she asks, "When do I see him?"

"Tomorrow," Vash states and looks at her hard. "Your court hearing is tomorrow at 9. They'll set your bail then, which I'm sure will be easy to pay."

She nods to this but lets him continue. "When you get out, and I know you will, please just let me do my job and handle this case."

"You mean convict Gil," she corrects in a not so friendly tone. "Vash, he's innocent, I know he is."

"It's not about convicting Beilschmidt! It's about a family who lost a loved one and bringing justice by finding whoever did it." He reaches down then, digging around for something before slapping a very familiar imagine against the glass. "Who is this? We found the folder on him in your car." The Swiss detective demands and Elizaveta is face to face with the image of a curly-haired Spaniard.

She sits back in her chair and averts her eyes from the photo. She knows who it is, but a warning is ringing in her ears: _don't tell them anything._ Gilbert said that weeks ago, and Elizaveta has refrained from saying anything since then but…how can she tell what she doesn't know? Whatever connection Gilbert and Antonio have—or had, is still a mystery. The only thing she knows is his name and that her boyfriend is missing. Anything could have happened to him and this man may possibly know what. But she doesn't know, and worries her bottom lip with her teeth while debating on revealing the man's name.

_It could save him_, Elizaveta thinks. _It could put him in danger_, she worries. It could reassure her if Vash could find Antonio, but ease her conscience if she does it herself. But what harm could come from the both of them searching? Gilbert is innocent, that much is sure, and maybe, just maybe, this is the key to proving it. The Hungarian takes a breath and prays a silent but quick prayer of forgiveness for breaking her oath of silence before looking obliquely at the picture again.

"His name is Antonio, and he and Gil used to be friends." Elizaveta says without hesitation. "But that's all I know."

Vash withdraws the picture from the glass but not his frown. "Why are you looking for him?"

Elizaveta opens her mouth but closes it quickly and thinks. She was going to say 'to find Gil' but the words seem incriminating, so she reformulates the sentence. "To find the truth."

Vash sighs then and scratches the back of his blond head. His face shows the worries from years working with the force. His eyes are tired, when they aren't pointed in a glare, and lips are thinner when they aren't turned down in a scowl. It's the face of a man who's seen way too much to be so young.

He speaks in German this time, and it's an effort to be more personal. "And if you don't like the truth you find?"

"But what if I'm right, Vash?"

"What if you're wrong?"

She isn't. She knows it.

* * *

A/N: Ah, Elizaveta is in freaking jail! I mean, seriously, you can't help anybody while you're in jail!


End file.
